


Bottoms Up

by teh_gelfling



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Slash, Sticky Sex, prompt meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teh_gelfling/pseuds/teh_gelfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From Camfield on my <a href="http://teh-gelfling.livejournal.com/20780.html">prompt meme</a>. Grimlock/Wheeljack – Bottoms up</p><p>Oh, gods. This is awful and horrible and I about died of embarrassment writing it and for some insane reason, I am so fucking proud of it. Damn you, Cam. XD I hope you're proud of yourself.</p><p>Oh, yeah, and it's unbeta'd, like all my stuff. If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Bottoms Up

**Author's Note:**

> From Camfield on my [prompt meme](http://teh-gelfling.livejournal.com/20780.html). Grimlock/Wheeljack – Bottoms up
> 
> Oh, gods. This is awful and horrible and I about died of embarrassment writing it and for some insane reason, I am so fucking proud of it. Damn you, Cam. XD I hope you're proud of yourself.
> 
> Oh, yeah, and it's unbeta'd, like all my stuff. If you feel like it, leave a comment or critique. I love knowing what my readers like and don't like about my stories.

The air in the _Ark_ 's Rec Room fairly pulsed with the heavy beat of the music. Blaster was DJ, as usual, and Jazz and Sideswipe were hosting. Wheeljack had to admit that they'd really gone all-out this time. He sat in the back at the most isolated table he could find and threw back one of the shots of energon he held. He wasn't normally a two-fisted drinker, but things had just gone so _wrong_ today, he really didn't even want to think about it. All he wanted was to just kind of lose himself for the night. He downed the other and searched the room for one of the mechs playing server.

Finally finding someone, he flagged the mech down and grabbed two more of the glowing energon shots, then shrugged and took a third for good measure. He waved the other off with a lopsided grin and proceeded to mech-watch as he continued his campaign to get good and wasted.

The new shot almost _burned_ going down, and he looked at the other two critically. Okay, that was an interesting colour for energon, even if it _was_ high-grade. Honestly, he hadn't even noticed before tossing the one back. Something that shade of cyan could only have come from Sideswipe's personal – and probably experimental – stock. The type that would get you cratered before you noticed.

Excellent.

Movement beside him caught his optic and he looked up. And up. Primus, had Grimlock always been that big? His optics weren't even at crotch level with the mech. Oh, wait, that might be because he was kind of slouched down in the chair. In fact, if the table hadn't been there, he might just be on the floor. He pulled himself back to a sort-of-upright position and found himself looking directly into golden hips. Nice, large ones.

Wait, what?

“You Wheeljack not look so good.”

“'M fine, Grim. Just on my way to a really good overcharge.” He raised the next shot to his mouth, but the Dinobot picked it right out of his hand.

“Me Grimlock think you already there. Not need more. Maybe need something else.”

Oh, that sounded _really_ suggestive. And maybe that something else was hidden behind that panel just a few inches in front of his nose. As soon as the thought registered, Wheeljack's optics flared white and his vocal indicators flashed the bright pink of embarrassment. Primus, he did _not_ just think that.

Before Grimlock could stop him, he snatched up the third shot. “Bottoms up,” he muttered to himself and practically poured the high-grade down his throat. The little glass made a satisfying thunk when he slammed it back onto the table. Wheeljack looked up almost challengingly at the Dinobot, waiting to see what he would do.

Grimlock downed the shot he held and his visor glowed a warm red as it bored into the inventor. Warm like his systems... he wondered what else might be warm. Hot, preferably. Hot and large. And holy Primus, this was not something he should be thinking about this mech that he'd created, but his processor was already firmly stuck in that loop. All rational thought was locked away, and his systems heated even more.

The only reason he knew his fans had spun up was Grimlock's reaction.

The large mech touched Wheeljack's face like he'd seen Carly do to little Daniel when checking for a fever. “You Wheeljack hot to touch. Me Grimlock get him Ratchet. Him Ratchet fix.”

'Jack laughed. He couldn't help it. When Grimlock gave him a stern look, he shook a hand at him and said, “No, no, I don't need Ratchet. Not sick. Just – just really, really...” He trailed off, processor fuzzing and trying hard to shake off the arousal he was feeling.

“You not stop now. You tell me Grimlock what wrong or me Grimlock get him Ratchet.” The Dinobot leader bent down to put his face on level with the Lancia's. The effect was rather menacing.

And oh did it turn him on.

Grimlock straightened again and studied the smaller mech. In what seemed to be an experiment, he leant close once more.

Wheeljack's fans spun up to a higher speed.

“You Wheeljack want me Grimlock spike.”

The certainty and satisfaction in that assessment was so thick, he wasn't certain it could be cut with Prime's axe.

Mmm... thick. Yes. Blue optics unconsciously focussed on the panel between Grimlock's legs and he licked his lips in anticipation.

Next thing he knew, he was pulled to his feet and draped over the table on his front. Large hands clumsily caressed his aft, blunt fingers prodding at his scorching valve cover, which oh so helpfully snapped aside. Those same fingers pressed into the slick passage, moving about and stretching the lining wide. Wheeljack writhed, the sensations both too much and not enough, and he whined when the fingers left him.

He heard a snick and the hiss of a rapidly pressurising spike, then something hot and hard was pressed against his opening.

“What you Wheeljack say? Bottoms up?”

The white mech panted heavily. “That's o-OH! PRIMUS!” Okay, there went that train of thought. The stretch of his valve around Grimlock's spike was incredible.

Grimlock grunted and snapped his hips forward, burying himself deep. His hands gripped Wheeljack's hips tightly, holding the mech in place while he thrust in and withdrew over and over. “You Wheeljack like me Grimlock big spike. Best spike you Wheeljack ever have, yes?”

'Jack could only moan in response. He could barely understand what was being said, and had absolutely no processing power left over to formulate a coherent reply. The huge spike pumping in and out of his valve just felt too good, despite the fact that this was his creation fragging him. Or maybe because of it. He _had_ caught himself admiring the mech's frame multiple times before.

“You Wheeljack have me Grimlock spike any time. Little valve feel good around big spike. Little valve best valve. Not like Dinobot valve.”

Wheeljack could feel his creation's charge rising as quickly as his own. Electricity rippled across his frame with each hard thrust. His moans grew in volume with every stroke until he was practically shouting his pleasure. He teetered on the edge of overload, held there for what seemed like forever, but the stimulation just wasn't enough to send him over.

Grimlock paused and Wheeljack made a garbled noise of sheer frustration. “Me Grimlock fill you Wheeljack valve so full, you Wheeljack be walking funny for days,” that voice rumbled in his audial, then powerful hips slammed in hard and within a few strokes, the Lancia was screaming out his overload. Grimlock's spike exploded in fountains of transfluid, the thick, hot fluid setting off another release as it filled him up and oozed out around the huge shaft in his valve.

When all the little secondary overloads and aftershocks had finally stopped and Grimlock withdrew, Wheeljack just went limp, sprawled over the table. He couldn't muster the energy to move. His frame felt like it had been turned to jelly. His valve was sore, but it was the soreness of having been thoroughly, wonderfully fragged and he was more than happy to deal with that.

Strong hands returned him to his seat. He was sure he would have said thank you, but he really couldn't get his vocaliser to cooperate. The hands pulled away and he began to slide down to the floor. It wasn't intentional, but damn if it didn't look inviting right now. He needed a nap. Primus, he felt good. It'd been so long, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good.

“Wheeljack!”

Oh, boy. And there was Ratchet. The mech sounded positively scandalised, which was actually something of a feat. His optics closed and he slumped even further in a half-sparked attempt to derail the medic's rant. Maybe if he looked pitiful enough...

“You Ratchet leave him Wheeljack alone. Me Grimlock take care now. You not see him Wheeljack need friend. Me Grimlock see. Me Grimlock help. Him Wheeljack in good hands now.”

Wheeljack felt himself lifted like a sparkling, then the surprisingly gentle yet still loud impacts of Grimlock's feet on the deck as he was carried... somewhere. At the moment, he really didn't care. He snuggled in to the warm plating of Grimlock's massive chest and let recharge claim him.


End file.
